


What Might Have Been

by misshigherpower



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Afterlife, Death, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3789520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misshigherpower/pseuds/misshigherpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia reflects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Might Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FF.net in March 2006.

As I fade into death, I watch Angel receive the news that I am gone. And as he mourns me, I can’t help but mourn for myself.

I mourn for the life that I am leaving behind, the life that might have been, and all the things that I will never experience.

I mourn for all the things that I thought that I would have, the things that I should have had with Angel.

I watch my other selves, the selves that made different decisions, enjoy all of the things that I so desperately wish I could have.

I see one Cordelia on her first day of college at UC Sunnydale, then graduation and a fabulous career. 

In another branch, I see her accepting her life with Angel. Her life as his Seer until the day he reaches his Shanshu. One life in which she hasn’t aged; the demon in her has prevented that. I see the engagement ring that glitters on her hand, the perfect wedding dress that she wears, the perfect wedding, with everyone there. I see her in a perfect little house in the suburbs, with a beautiful front yard where they play with Connor.

There is another life in which Angel reaches his Shanshu much earlier. The engagement and wedding are the same. The only person missing is Connor. But their hearts are not empty. He holds her hand as they wait for the pregnancy test. She sees the slight rounding of her stomach, full with their child. It’s a perfect little girl. Their beautiful baby, Bronwyn, has ten little fingers and ten little toes, a head of downy soft dark hair, with chubby little cheeks and legs. 

But then the actual course of events becomes clearer, the other paths fade as I do. I will never be a mother or a wife. I will never go to college. I will never wear an engagement ring. I will never have a normal career. I will never have a baby. A single, unimportant tear rolls down my cheek as I mourn what might have been.


End file.
